


Nine Months Brings New Life

by Seductresses_Temple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining Draco Malfoy, Self-Mutilation, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-07-11 15:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seductresses_Temple/pseuds/Seductresses_Temple
Summary: “You have changed so much, Draco, made so much progress and have blossomed into a completely different person than the young man I met nine months ago. I think there can be some symbolism in that, nine months, women carry their children to term for nine months and then they birth a new life into the world. You, Draco, carried your trauma for the past nine months and you birthed a new version of yourself into the world. Going back to Hogwarts is your opportunity to foster that new life. It doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”Or in other words, my very first 8th year fic.





	1. Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story got SO much love over on my tumblr that people convinced me to write more for it. I'm not sure how many chapters this will wind up being but I have quite a few ideas for a really decent little fic. I'm really just winging it with this fic so I'll add tags/characters as I go.

Draco sighed, plopping down ungracefully, un-Malfoy-like, into the all too familiar leather chaise. He shifted around for a moment until he deemed himself comfortable enough before lolling his head over to the side to look at Clara who was gazing at him with her typical, bemused expression. He smiled at her tiredly, even he could feel that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but at least he was trying.

“Hello, Draco,” Clara said after a moment “nice to see that you’re punctual as always. You look a bit tired, still having trouble sleeping?”

Draco nodded, locks of hair falling over his eyes. “Another nightmare, some days I feel like they’re getting out of control since I stopped taking the Dreamless Sleep.”

Clara nodded, jotting the information down in a small leather bound pad she kept practically glued to her lap. “Would you like to talk about the nightmare? Was it about the war again, or your father?”

Lucius. Draco could appreciate that Clara never said his name anymore. It brought Draco too many emotions to keep under control. Ever since the war had ended, Draco’s relationship with his father had been non-existent. It was his _father’s_ fault that he and his mother had gotten dragged into the whole ‘serving the Dark Lord’ nonsense. It had been his father’s fault that they’d had to house a blood-thirsty lunatic in their _home._ Draco’s stomach began to churn just thinking of all the things he’d born witness to while the Dark Lord haunted the halls of Malfoy Manor. To make matters worse, Draco and his mother had nearly been carted off to Azkaban thanks to trying to keep their heads above water in the situation his father had put them in. If it hadn’t been for Potter...Draco was afraid to think what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Potter…

“Draco?” Clara’s voice pulled Draco out of his thoughts. He did that a lot now. Spaced out. Got inside of his head and drifted away from the outside world. It was something he and Clara were trying to work on. Seeing a Mind Healer was part of the terms and conditions involved that kept him and his mother out of Azkaban. One of many conditions.

“It was about my father,” Draco sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. He’d cut it when his father -ragged and screaming like a raving lunatic- denounced both he and his mother as he was carted off to Azkaban with a life-long sentence. It had started with the left side, then the right. Now he’d taken to keeping the sides shaved, the middle long -down to his jaw- and streaked with various shades of light blue. His father had a conniption the first time he saw it. It was so feminine, so queer, so very un-Malfoy. Draco loved it and he loved how much his father hated it.

“What about your father?” Clara had such a soothing voice. Draco loved it. He confessed after a few months of seeing her that her voice reminded him of his mother. Clara was gentle and patient and seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare. The wizarding world spit upon the name Malfoy, it was nice to feel cared for.

“I came out to him. It was such an odd dream. We were in a muggle coffee shop, of all places, my father hates both coffee and muggles so it all seemed surreal and out of place. I sat down in front of my father and watched him sneer at my hair and my clothes and my coffee and I just sort of blurted it out…” Draco fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, frowning.

“You can say it Draco. This is a safe space. I think it would be healthy for you to be able to say the words aloud. They aren’t bad words, you just have a negative association to them because that’s what you were raised to think. Your father raised you to believe they’re something to be ashamed of, Draco, but we’ve talked about this. You don’t have to live your life by his definitions anymore, you’re free to live life on your own terms.” Clara stared at him, her yellow eyes watching him carefully like a hawk. Draco was vaguely reminded of Madam Hooch, her eyes trained to the sky, protective and alert, making sure to catch any of the first years should they fall off their broom. There was a safety in that, something rooted so deeply in Draco that he barely understood it. It made him feel safe, brought him back to a point in his life before his world got blown apart.

“I told my father I’m gay,” he whispered. If he weren’t so bloody tired he most likely would have cringed at how small and insignificant he sounded. He sounded like a child sharing a secret that, well..wasn’t a secret. Pretty much everyone knew. His father certainly knew long before Draco did. His father had always done his best to snuff out that side of him.

A black wardrobe. No color. No life. No expression. _End of story._

A lack of affection from his father. No love. No smiles. No hugs. No warmth between men because that would be _wrong. End of story._

His father drove him to quidditch. A manly sport. Something physical because he’d kill them both before he had a dancer for a son. If Narcissa took Draco to one more ballet, he was shipping Draco off to Durmstrang. _End of story._

His father had taken control of his narrative, at least that’s how Clara put it. Draco quite liked that analogy. He liked reading, liked thinking about his life as a book that wasn’t quite finished yet. His father had written the first half but Draco, well, he could write the second half however he wanted. He liked that.

“What happened after that? How did your father react?”

“He mutated.”

“E-Excuse me?” Clara leaned forward a little, making sure she heard Draco correctly.

“He mutated, the dreamscape changed and suddenly I wasn’t in a muggle cafe with my father anymore, I was in the Hogwarts Great Hall surrounded by the rest of my ‘peers’ and they were...being very vocal about my new appearance,” Draco gestured down to his outfit; black wingtips, tailored, royal purple pants with a matching button down, a grey marled sweater vest, and plum, purple, grey, and black, paisley bow tie.

“So they resorted to name-calling?” Clara raised an eyebrow at him, an expectant, maternal look on her face. She was a stickler for not allowing Draco to get away with vague answers.

“No.”

“Draco,” Clara sighed ever so quietly, glancing at the clock “it’s your hour, Draco, and I understand these things are hard to talk about. Examining our emotions and coming to terms with things that go against what we’ve known and been taught our entire lives is no easy feat. However, you’ve been making such tremendous progress lately, you honestly have, if you’d rather table this discussion for the moment and move on to something else, I support that decision but with you leaving for Hogwarts in a few days, I think this is something we should try to tackle. I’m going to go put the kettle on, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” Draco murmured, nodded absently. He was already lost in thought by the time Clara left the room. He knew she was right, not that he particularly wanted to admit it. She was so like his mother in that way, speaking logic and reasoning into him even when it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Draco was afraid to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t want to admit _that_ either. They all hated him and rightfully so. What was the point of going back? It wasn’t like anyone in the wizarding world would higher him all because he sat for his N.E.W.T.S. He was still a Malfoy, for now anyhow, until his father found out he wouldn’t be carrying on the Malfoy name. Not with a woman at least. He sighed, sinking further into the chaise. He didn’t hear Clara come back into the room until the familiar chink of china on wood snapped him back into reality.

“Thank you,” he sat up just enough to take his cup, running a finger over the rim “I’m…” he refused to say scared. “I’m worried about returning to Hogwarts, worried that they’ll all see how much I’ve changed, worried they’ll be able to tell that I’m...gay.” He took a careful, steady sip from his tea, staring down into the cup to avoid Clara. He didn’t want anyone at Hogwarts to know he was gay. They knew too much about him already. Draco sodding Malfoy, ex-death eater, co-conspirator to the death of Dumbledore, prime suspect of the near-deaths of Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley, pompous git, Slytherin Ice King, and the cold-hearted carbon copy of ruthless murderer Lucius Malfoy. Parents were already complaining as it was. Death Eater children back roaming the halls of Hogwarts? Preposterous! It was bad enough the Ministry was forcing them back to Hogwarts as part of their ‘rehabilitation’ into society, Draco could only imagine what the parents would do if they found out a queer ex-death eater was in their mists.  

“I don’t think it would be so bad if they saw you’ve changed, Draco,” Clara took a sip of her tea, giving him that maternal, expectant stare as if he were a small child struggling to discern that two plus two does indeed equal four.

“Wasn’t it you who said, and I quote ‘changing into the man I’ve always felt I should be without my father lurking over every decision I make is one of the best things to ever happen to me?’ or do you no longer feel that way?” Clara continued to stare over the rim of her cup.

Draco remembered that session. Vividly. It was shortly after he had dyed his hair, not too long after his breakdown that had landed him in Mungos for nine months. Draco learned the hard way that slicing your Dark Mark off landed you in a very cozy room in St.Mungos that just so happened to have white padded walls. “I did say that,” Draco murmured, glancing down at his arm.

“You have changed so much, Draco, made so much progress and have blossomed into a completely different person than the young man I met nine months ago. I think there can be some symbolism in that, nine months, women carry their children to term for nine months and then they birth a new life into the world. You, Draco, carried your trauma for the past nine months and you birthed a new version of yourself into the world. Going back to Hogwarts is your opportunity to foster that new life. It doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”

********************

“You look dashing, sweetheart,” Narcissa smiled sweetly, coming over to Draco and running her fingers through his hair, mussing it up a tiny bit.

“Thank you, mother,” Draco tried to smile but only managed a twitch of the lips. He bent down to grab his school trunk. He’d have to carry it as he wasn’t allowed a wand again until he was on school property. His mother had been kind enough to cast a wandless lightening charming on it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you, Draco? Between the reporters, the other students, I-” Draco held up a hand to stop her.

“I know you’re worried, mother, but I’ll be fine. They don’t need to put us both in the paper. I’ll write the moment I’m able and at least once a week after. Clara has spoken to Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey and its been arranged for me to have my sessions at Hogwarts each week. I’ll…”he kissed her forehead tenderly “I’ll be alright, mother.”

Narcissa nodded, blonde curls bobbing softly. She stared at him, long and imploringly, her blue eyes searching for something. What, Draco wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt small and incredibly young under her gaze. “I love you so,” she whispered, clasping onto his arm, over the spot where his Dark Mark once stood “if you need anything, anything at all, just write home and I’ll come running.” She pulled him into a nearly bone crushing hug, kissing his cheek before letting him leave out the door.

“I love you too, Mother. Everything will be fine,” Draco wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. All he knew was the night he sliced the Dark Mark off his arm had left them both changed people. It was scary, leaving the comfort of their little bubble, but they would both be better for it. That’s what their Mind Healers kept telling them. By the time Draco came back at Christmas the Manor would be renovated, cleansed, completely different. He hoped he’d return in much the same condition; renovated, cleansed, different.

********************

Kings Cross Station brought about everything Draco had been expecting. He’d been hexed...twice, booed at, spat at, and the vultures from the _Daily Prophet_ had a field day with the drama his mere presence had caused. The only sanctuary he had within it all was that no one wanted to sit with him so he’d managed to find an empty compartment and settle into it. People glared and sneered as they passed by but once the train began moving he felt as though he was finally able to exhale. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were all headed to Hogwarts by other means which meant he’d be alone the entire trip. Draco wasn’t sure whether to panic or find solace in that but he had to deal with it all the same. He set his robes on the seat next to him and pulled out a muggle book he’d begun reading and curled up in his seat, praying beyond hope that at least the train ride could be uneventful before he spent the next year surrounded by people who’d much prefer if he were dead.

“Malfoy,” Draco wanted to curse, recognizing the voice instantly. He slid his bookmark in to hold his place and looked up into shockingly bright emerald eyes.

“Potter,” he greeted, taking a concentrated effort to keep his voice low and level.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Potter gestured toward the empty seat across from him.

Draco eyed Potter, taking in his appearance. He’d changed in the past year. His hair had gotten longer, long enough to completely cover his scar and long enough for him to have a long, thick plait that sat over his shoulder. Apparently Potter had a sense of fashion now. Draco took note of the dragon hide boots and fitted black trousers, the leather jacket that seemed far too big for him but in a devil-may-care sort of way. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore either. “Suit yourself,” Draco couldn’t help but feel his curiosity being piqued by this Potter. There was something about him that Draco couldn’t place. An energy that seemed to crackle around him, pulling Draco in, and he felt helpless to stop it.

“I’ve a question for you, Malfoy, this thing that’s just burning in my mind for far too long.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. Since when did Potter speak so openly with him? They had never been friendly. Draco had gone out of his way to make the other boy miserable for far too long. “So you get...clarity of some sort and I?” Draco trailed off, making a flippant gesture with his hand. Old habits died hard with Potter, apparently. However, much to Draco’s surprise, the git had the nerve to smile. Not just smile, but to throw his head back and laugh.

“I thought you might say that,” Potter grinned at him, eyes twinkling in a way that was insufferable reminiscent of Dumbledore. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an incredibly thin, long box. It could only be one thing and Draco felt his heart clutch painfully in his chest. Potter still had his wand after all this time...He’d managed to convince himself that Potter must have thrown it out, broke it, set it on fire, the scenario was different in his head every time.

“What is it you want to know?” Draco’s voice came out in barely a whisper.

Potter held the box with both hands, leaning forward, whispering conspiratorially “You knew it was me. Why?”

Draco’s breath hitched in his throat. He never thought he’d be confronted with this. He never anticipated Potter wanting to know why. He should have known better, it was in Potter's nature to go sticking his nose in things. It was something Draco had only ever spoken to Clara about and even that hadn’t come easily. He swallowed thickly, staring at his wand in Potter’s hands. He was cradling it gently as if it were something precious. It was precious to Draco but he didn’t know if it was worth spilling one of his biggest secrets...if he got caught with it, he'd be carted off to Azkaban...He stared at Potter, into those same green eyes that had stopped him in his track that night. “Because I’m in love with you,” he whispered breathlessly, the words rushing out before he could think about how incredibly stupid it was to say so.

“Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” Potter laughed, a big bark of a laugh that seemed to make the entire compartment brighter. He shook his head, his braid swinging on his shoulder. “Fine, don’t tell me, but I’m not letting this go.” Potter stood up, using the box containing Draco’s wand to give him a little salute before marching out the door.

Draco sat there in stunned silence. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then snapped it shut. He’d just told Potter he loved him. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with him? As if his life wasn’t difficult enough. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic, hyperactive thump of his heart.

“Oh buggering fuck, kill me now,” Draco whispered to the empty compartment. He’d just confessed feelings he’d kept buried for four years and he hadn’t even gotten to Hogwarts yet. It was going to be an incredibly long year. A long year full of Potter and his nonsense and his...green eyes…”buggering fuck,” Draco groaned. It was going to be a long, long year.

 


	2. Re-sorted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: If reading panic attacks is something triggering for you, please tread carefully with this chapter and skip the scene where Draco's carriage gets close to the castle.

“What is _he_ doing here?”

“ _Death Eater scum…”_

“Pity to see so many of the snakes _slithered_ their way out of Azkaban.”

“Whole lot of them should have been given a nice little Kiss.”

Draco heard the whispers. He walked off the train with his head held high and his shoulders squared as he made his way through the masses. There would be whispers all term; best he got used to it now. He headed toward the carriages, spotting Blaise, Pansy, Theo, and Astoria all squeezed into one.

“Draco, dar-” Pansy’s eyes went as wide as saucers as he headed over. “What have you done to your hair!” she was practically vibrating, all frantic hands and shrill whispers.

Instinctively, Draco reached up to the middle of his hair, twirling a silky, fluffy cerulean lock around his finger. He spent so much time at the Manor, away from people, away from mirrors, he nearly forgets he dyed it, cut it, that he stopped drowning it in straightening potions per his father’s demands.  

“Blue’s a dashing color on me,” he smirked, albeit awkwardly, suddenly feeling small. He wanted Pansy to like his hair, like the new him. He wanted all of them to like the new him.

Astoria broke the silence before its implications had the chance to capture his heart in a vice grip. “I think it looks charming, Draco,” she smiled at him, lending her hand so he could climb aboard the carriage with them.

“Thank you, Astoria,” he returned the smile, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek as he sat down beside her.

It was comforting, calming, being in her presence. They had bonded after the war, after his... ‘incident’ as his mother took to calling it. As they had been betrothed since their third year, Astoria was made to come visit while he was held in St. Mungo’s. They talked. Sure, they’d been betrothed since they were young, had classes together, but they never interacted much before then. Astoria had been under strict order from her parents not to have much contact with him while they were at Hogwarts. Heaven forbid they be too close and tempted to engage in any _premarital mischief._ The time they spent together at St. Mungo’s...well, it was like meeting for the first time, really. For a while Astoria was the only person he would talk to willingly. Her gentle voice, easy laugh and her radiance of her smile calmed him; she was like a Goddess wading through his sorrows, come to rescue him from the deepening chasm of loneliness and dread.

Draco fancied her quite a bit. She was gorgeous, beyond so, even Draco had to admit that but he couldn’t bring himself to care about her _in that way._ Astoria assured him it was perfectly fine, that she -more than most- understood all too perfectly. Despite being betrothed to one another for years, it didn't take them more than one conversation to realize their relationship would never be anything other than platonic. Neither of them knew how to tell their families they didn’t want to marry one another.

Well…

Until Astoria broke into her father’s stash of brandy and announced to her entire family her relationship with Pansy...and Theo, and declared along with having no intention to marry Draco, she absolutely refused to break up with her boyfriend and girlfriend, consequences be damned. Well, suffice it to say, Astoria’s family took great offense to that and had some words to say that proper pure-blooded witches or wizards wouldn’t repeat. Astoria listened to it all calmly, with the grace and decorum she’d been bred with and then proceeded to say a great deal of things that proper pure-blooded witches certainly weren’t supposed to even _know._

Astoria, Theo, and Pansy were pansexual, polyamorous, and in a healthy, loving, committed relationship. Draco didn’t quite understand half of those words but if it meant he wouldn’t be forced to marry Astoria or Pansy -his parents’ apparent back up- well, that suited him just fine. His friends were happy, much happier than him, and that was more than enough.

“Careful darling, if you keep fawning over Draco like this, I might steal Pansy away from you while you’re distracted,” Blaise drawled, a devilish smirk stretching across his chiseled face.

“I’d like to see you try, Zabini,” Theo slung his arm around Pansy’s shoulder, pulling her close to place a kiss behind her ear.

“Yes, yes, you’ve both got big cocks. This isn’t a pissing contest boys’” Pansy chuckled, patting Theo’s knee. She and Astoria were both far too used to the constant competition between Theo and Blaise. It was all in good fun but Pansy, being ever so much herself, was on a mission.

“We were focusing on him,” she reminded, nodding her head toward Draco.

“And his poncy outfit,” Theo added helpfully.

Draco looked down at his clothing. After his encounter with Potter, he hadn’t put his school robes on, too busy cursing every deity he could think of, so there was nothing to hide his slim fitted blue trousers, pink button up, and white bow tie. It was still fairly warm out so he wanted to wear light colors to keep cool. He was...comfortable…

“It isn’t poncy,” he muttered, picking invisible lint off his pants.

“Oh, leave the little baby queer alone to discover his sexuality like the lot of you.” Draco’s head snapped up at Blaise’s flippant comment only to find him examining his nails as if he hadn’t said something earth shattering. Draco hadn’t exactly ’come out’ as it were, but to have it commented on, and so bluntly at that...

“Oh please,” Blaise scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened his robes “if you thought none of us knew, then perhaps you deserve your perpetual second place spot underneath Granger in academics. Honestly Draco…”

Draco looked around at his friends, attempting to keep his mouth from opening and closing like a fish. Pansy and Astoria merely stared at him with that face women get when they think a man is being incredibly dim-witted, in a precious “poor dear” sort of way, and Theo just sniggered at him, trying to hide it by covering his hands...the wanker.

“I hate all of you,” Draco couldn’t stop his lips from twitching up into a smile.

“You would be positively lost without such a glorious support system and you’d do well to remember it, Malfoy,” Pansy sniffed, pulling a glass nail file out of Merlin only knew where and tending to her nails.

“Yes, Draco is very lucky to have us and we’re very lucky to have Draco. Now, let’s just try to get through the Welcoming Feast with minimal incident, shall we?” Astoria was always the diplomatic one of their little “family.” Seeing as how she was sleeping with two out of five of them, her word seemed to carry a lot of weight. Pansy and Theo fell into quiet conversation about their summers and Draco couldn’t help but smile gratefully at Astoria as she chatted to Blaise about his mother’s new husband.

Draco just...needed a moment to decompress. As he stared at the castle he felt as though it were rushing toward him despite how slow the carriage was trudging along the path. Hogwarts. It had been over a year since Draco was here last. Not since the night of the final battle...nine out of those twelve months he had been a suicidal, unstable, self-hating train wreck barely able to make it a few hours without vomiting, crying, flying off the handle, or some cluster fucked combination of the three and then some. The trials had caused him so much anxiety his hair had started to thin which was all the catalyst he needed to shave the sides after his “incident.”

Now he was back...his eyes immediately drawn to the Astronomy tower…

He felt his stomach churning like the indescribable gunk typically found in one of Longbottom’s potions cauldrons. _But Longbottom is a war hero...what are you? Nothing but a traitor._ He felt his nails digging into his palms as he watched Theo, Pansy, and Blaise climb down without seeing them, his mind moving far, far away. The memory of red and green magic whizzing past his vision, the bodies piled up like rags against the stone, the empty, grey faces of children dead too young… He buried his face in his hands, bouncing his legs as his breath burned in his chest, every inhale feeling like sucking air through a crumpled straw. He wanted to move, wanted to run, wanted to be as far away from the castle as humanly possible but his limbs felt heavy as stone, unmovable and useless.

“Draco,” he felt hands pulling his own away from his face.

“Look at me, I’m right here, Draco, look at me,” Astoria’s gentle hands were cupping his cheeks, the faint smell of roses that always lingered on her skin oddly sharp to his senses. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent, picking up a subtle, understated note of sweet orange, no, no, mandarin. He inhaled again, tears blinding his vision as he let them flow freely, his brain too busy untangling the chain of tortured memories to care that he was crying in public. He breathed in deeply, focusing on the sound of Astoria’s voice, the feel of the carriage beneath him, the taste of the chocolate he’d had on the train still lingering on his tongue, and the color of his pants as he slowly opened his eyes. He let those things ground him until he felt as though he had come back to himself.

\------------------------------------------

Walking back into the Great Hall felt like willfully entering the lion’s den. Draco tried to take solace in knowing Clara would have commended him on his bravery for stepping into something that terrified him. The cacophony of students new and old alone was enough to send him into a panic but he held his head high and tried to ignore the piercing gazes and whispered insults. None of them were going to say anything to his face, not at the Welcoming Feast anyway, so what did he really have to fear? He knew he was unwelcomed, he didn’t want to be there anymore than they wanted him there.

He did his best to ignore it, but how could he? Every brick, every hallway, was laced with a memory of something horrid. He’d rather drink poison or throw himself off the Astronomy tower than have to live within the walls of some of his most haunted memories. Clara called it re-traumatizing. Draco called it Hell but what choice did he have in the matter? Returning to Hogwarts was one of many terms he’d agreed upon...he would have agreed to damn near anything if it meant staying out of Azkaban. He’d already lived with madness once, for an entire year, he didn’t see fit to subject himself to it twice.

Malfoy was a cursed name in the wizarding community these days. People would be staring, pointing, and whispering about him for far longer than his last year at Hogwarts. Plenty of people had made their opinions on Draco and his mother not being carted off to Azkaban known: publicly, loudly, and quite often. He’d survived all of that. He’d survived the trials. He’d survived his time being held at St. Mungo’s.

He survived the Dark Lord...one year at Hogwarts with a castle full of people who’d prefer to see him under a Dementor’s gaping maw was nothing in comparison.

He felt Astoria give his hand a gentle squeeze under the table as if reading his thoughts and he felt eternally grateful for her. They watched the first years get sorted into their houses in companionable silence, their intertwined fingers beneath the table giving Draco something to focus on, something to tether Draco to the calmness that practically radiated off of Astoria. The scrutiny of his peers became like white noise to him after a while...until Professor McGonagall had the audacity to stand before them and rip all of Draco’s serenity asunder.

Draco watched with mounting horror as the eighth year students began to rise from their seats and head to the front of the Great Hall. They were going to be re-sorted, all of them, since eighth year students were so unprecedented and a first for the school…Draco felt faint. The only comfort he had was knowing that he, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Astoria were all together. What if they got scattered across the school? Where would he go in the middle of the night when the nightmares woke him knowing that Pansy or Astoria might not be in the common room? Who would he room with other than Blaise and Theo?

"It'll be fine," he murmured to himself as he watched his classmates be sorted off into other houses. Longbottom being sorted in Slytherin had him gobsmacked. Weasley being sorted into Ravenclaw, as much as Draco loathe to admit it made perfect sense. He was a brilliant strategist, his mental strengths leaning away from traditional academics finally being realized seemed fair enough. Chang being re-sorted into Hufflepuff definitely made sense. Draco had seen her a time or two in the lobby of Clara's building, waiting to see her own Mind Healer no doubt. She'd find a good support system in Hufflepuff. But Longbottom? A Slytherin? The entire castle had gone loony, he was sure of it.

"Draco Malfoy."

He marched up to the stool, listening to the sound of his shoes against the stone to distract him from the whispers about his clothes, about his hair, about him. He felt a sense of what muggles called déjà vu, the Sorting Hat barely brushing up against his locks before shouting out into the Great Hall.

"Gryffindor!"

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! I'll try to update as often as I can! Thanks so much for reading.


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